Monster Hunter: Gunnery Crew
by MosinM38
Summary: And so begins the exploits of an awesome crew. Now the big question...Can they save the world? Or at least the Pacific Northwest? Mild language, some violence, and alot of explosions and gunplay Gun-nuts read these
1. The Beginning

And here it is!! The introductory fic for this section.

This is a fiction set in Larry Correia's Monster Hunter International universe.

It's a little differant than many of my other fic. Being that the antagonist is told in first person, while everything else takes place in 3rd person POV.

A few things, will be changed a little later. These are the original crude ones, and I plan on changing some stuff a little later, mainly names,etc.

Let me know what you think!!!!

Stifling a yawn, I glanced at the tractor's clock. Twelve o'clock. This was one of the times I hated working on a ranch. While normal people were in bed sleeping, or at the very least out getting hammered enough to not care about not sleeping, here I was, going in circles in a field, baling hay.

Maybe it wouldn't be bad for a few nights, but this was the fourth, and doing it constantly had gotten boring. Circling the field, keeping the wind rows of hay between the tractor tires and looking behind to make sure it didn't plug up as it fed onto the baler's feed ramp, stopping every now and then to tie the bale and drop it out of the baler.

The only interesting thing to happen all night, was nearly flattening a porcupine as he scurried away from the tractor tires. I saw a few eyes, illuminated by the array of lights on the tractor, but nothing else entered the circle.

I yawned, not bothering to smother it. I reached up for the tractor's radio and flipped on the dial. This late, nothing was ever on. Regardless it would give me a few minutes of something new to do and kill time. I punched a button, switching it to AM and slowly turned through the frequencies. A station came on at 890. Wow, a first. Turning up the volume, the speakers words came over the radio.

"And the next person we have on the phone lines is Mike. Hello Mike, you're on night of the paranormal, all about the most important evidence on Vampires, werewolves an.."vvpppppt. I switched off the radio. Last thing I needed on a night like this was to listen to a spooks show. Not that it mattered, nothing like that existed. But it was sort of like hearing about a surgery. You might not see it, and never have to experiance it, but knowing the details makes you squeamish.

My hand almost unconciously went to my left hip. I didn't normally carry my .40 caliber 226 Sig crossdraw, but being twisted to the right on the tractor seat made it uncomfortable to carry on my right hip like normal. Like I did a dozen times a day, my palm bumped the bottom of the magazine, ensuring it was tightly latched, then over the top of my two magazine pouches, making sure the snaps were still connected. Technically they were Schrade knife pouches, but they worked. And they only cost me three dollars apiece for working as good.

The bale monitor beeped, signalling a full bale. I hit the button which started the tying process, after which it would kick out the bale and I'd be ready to go. Waiting for it, I thought ahead to the gunshow that was approaching in about two weeks. Yep, definately a Sig 220 in .45. I liked my .40, and my 1911 .45, but.... What the fuck?

A whitetail doe blazed across the path of light, running breakneck and disregarding the tractor. Only feet behind came a paired blur of motion. Two animals pursued the hapless deer, running so fast as to nearly be unrecognizable. They were into and out of the small circle of light in only a couple of seconds, but they looked like mangy dogs.

Me and dad had found a few deer the past few weeks, dead, but not eaten, which probably meant wild dogs, killing for the pleasure. Actually they were probably former town dogs, whose owners brought them into the country and released them to "run free and frolick in the fields", not realizing or caring that in reality, most became voracious killers, quickly realizing the fun of running down and killing something. Eventually ending up harassing livestock or chickens and then finding themselves on the wrong end of a rancher's rifle.

The baler's rear door slammed shut, and I put the tractor into forward gear and continued. Damn, if only I'd had a few more seconds I could have maybe nailed them before they got another deer. As many problems as dozens of deer caused, our population was low enough we didn't want unnecesary killing.

I continued around the field, thoughts again returning to the gunshow. I glanced back at the baler a moment, then looked ahead. Just at the end of the light's circle laid the carcass of a deer and clustered around it were two figures, partially obscured behind it's body.

"Dinnertime, eh, you assholes?" I muttered, slamming the tractor out of gear and opening the door. I reached across my body and unsnapped the holster, pulling the Sig free. The carcass was lit up by the tractor's lights and I stood on the tractor's steps, sighting over the hood as one of the animals raised it's head just slightly.

I got a glimpse of, what the hell? A deformed skull? just before touching off a round. The 180 grain full metal jacket tore into the skull of the creature, dropping it next to the carcass, the sound muffled by the roar of the tractor's engine. It's companion lept up from it's meal, and I sent three more .40 caliber slugs at it as it ran out of the light, jerking once as the last round hit it.

I paused on the steps, quickly exchanging the half spent magazine for a fresh one. I stepped down from the tractor and walked to the deer's carcass. As I approached a strange smell invaded my nostrels. It smelled like fireworks had just been set off. I marked it down as something the tractor was giving off, and then stepped around the deer, looking at the fallen creature. What met my eyes, sent a chill down my backbone.

Instead of a mangy, or deformed dog, laid something out of a horror movie. It was about the size of a dog, three or four feet long, but all resemblance ended there. It looked like a lizard, it's two forelegs shorter, and obviously better clawed than its muscular hind legs. It had freaking spines growing out of it's back! And the eyes, they were huge, they looked like saucers. And now that I was right on the body the fireworks smell, sulfer was overpowering, it's source now obvious.

As I watched it, the body twitched. Scaring the shit out of me, I raised the Sig and at a range of about six feet, fired two more slugs into it's skull. The body twitched again, this time definately in death throes, it's limbs go akimbo, and it's extremely short, spiked tail beat the the ground once.

But even as it did, a screech echoed out in the darkness. As my spine chilled again, I forced myself calm, and did what any logical person would do. I ran. Or at least as best I could, as even in my fear and adrenaline high state, I wanted to face the dark as much as possible. That's where the trouble would come from. I thought.

I had just reached the steps of the tractor, when a hiss cut above the noise of the engine. I glanced down, just glimpsing a grayish skin as it lept from behind the tractor's tire. It was too close to aim, I just pointed and pulled the trigger. The ten remaining rounds in the magazine were fired as quickly as the action could cycle. My point shooting was decent, and even rapid fire, I could keep rounds in a good circle at around five yards. But with the terror of having something out of a horror movie only feet away, my reaction was something less than spectactular. The creature jerked only twice as bullets hit it, before slamming into my leg and knocking me to the ground.

The bullet impacts had shifted it, and it had hit off balance. It's jaws snapped shut on a mouthful of my jeans and I caught a shimmer of long teeth as it jerked it's mouth free. It leaped off as if to re-orient itself and then turned back towards me. It's mouth opened and another hiss came from it's mouth.

I aimed my pistol, but it was then I realized the slide was locked back. Before I could reach for another magazine, the creature lept. It dove towards my neck, jaws whipping open. As fast as it happened, it felt like slow motion, raising the pistol and hitting the creature in the jaws, the gun getting stuck in his mouth. It kept the monster from gaining a mouthful of me, but it didn't stop the impact. What felt like a hundred pounds slammed into my chest, and then my left side erupted in fire as claws ripped at my shoulder and chest.

I nearly collapsed. The pain, the sensation of ripping into my muscles was almost too much. I wanted to pass out, just, forget it all and let this damn monster rip me apart. But as the creature let out another hiss, something snapped. I'll be damned if some pissant creature thinks it'll get a free meal.

I surged upward, at least as well as anyone could with a hundred pound monster on their chest, slamming punches into it. I may not have been a bodybuilder, but farming and ranching gave me better mucles than any desk job would have, and if nothing else, took it by surprise. It rolled off, and I pulled myself up, grabbing a step on the tractor, and delivering a vicious kick to it's head, then pulling myself towards the cab.

I just got one hand on the tractorcab's floorboard, when the creature lept and with it's mouth now free, latched onto my leg. I screamed, not a manly roar either, but a shrill, high pitched girly scream. Even then, in the pitch of battle I knew it. It began yanking, trying to pull me from my handhold. I hung on, my leg becoming the object in a demented tug of war. My fingers began slipping from their holds and in a final lunge I reached inside the cab for a solid grip. Instead, they wrapped around the head of the fire extinguisher that all of our tractors had.

With a final jerk, I was pulled from the tractor, but also yanked the heavy fire extinguisher with me. Now on the ground, the monster bit deeper into my leg, settling for holding it while his claws began stripping my legs.

With all the effort I could manage, I grabbed the extinguisher with both hands, and lunged upwards, bringing it squarely onto the big lizard's head. It let out a screech and released it's hold on my leg. With the weight off, I lost control. My body responded, but it almost felt as if I was watching in third person. Again I swung the fire extinguisher, hitting the monster on the head, and for the first time, it fell, and struggled dazedly on the ground. I kept hitting hit, three, then four more times.

I then remembered my knife. I always carried both a leatherman tool, and a folding Schrade knife. I dropped the heavy metal bottle, and fumbled at my sheath, unsnapping the container and clumsily withdrawing the knife. The monster struggled, just gaining it's feet as the blade locked open.

"DIE MOTHER FUCKER," even as I said it, I felt a fresh wave of adernaline hit me. I fell on the creature, thrusting the knife into it's neck. It let out another screeh, but fell silent as it's vocal chords were severed. It's blood pumped from his neck wound, the sulfiric smell overpowering, and even the blood slightly burning my hand. But I didn't care. For several minutes I continued stabbing the creature, even as it died from it's bleeding neck wound.

I finally fell back, against the tractor tire, trying to regain my breath. Who knows, maybe there's more than just the two out there. I struggled to get up, and I finally noticed my wounds. My left arm had quite moving, and as I looked at my legs, I could only see raw meat and tattered jeans. With the adrenaline fading, I collapsed, then tried to reach for my cell phone. Slowly, carefully I got my hand into the pocket.

Gone. Somewhere in the fight, I'd managed to lose it. But how will......And then I blacked out.


	2. Z

Dave Keller looked out the window of his patrol car as he drove down the empty street. Millers Point Missouri was a small town, and technically there was only about a dozen streets in the town, but there were a few. And tonight he was keeping a careful watch over them.

The past couple of days had sort of kept the small town on edge. Although nothing actually happened, things had been turning up strange. The local goth kid had gone missing about three days ago with three of his chronies. A thorough search had been made, but given up, as the entire town with notable exception of the parents figured they ran away.

Two days ago, a rabid dog had turned up, and eventually killed by two local farmers, eventually being the primary word. It had managed to bite both of them before a 12 gauge blew off the top of it's head. Both men had been given rabies shots, but yesterday, both had disappeared.

But now, he was wondering if it had been rabies. It wasn't like he believed the ooga-booga bullshit that conspiracy people thought of, but it might not have been rabies, although they wouldn't know until the lab tests came back. Although he hadn't seen the body, and the local vet hadn't autopsied it, apprently a load of 12 gauge birdshot had hit it square in the chest, and hadn't fazed it. It probably just hadn't penetrated, but even so. Something should have happened. If he hadn't known the guy who said it, Dave never would have believed such a thing.

"Deputy Keller, this is dispatch," the car's radio crackled. He keyed the mike, "This is Keller go ahead."

"A motorist reported two drunks wandering the road outside of Hillgate cemetary. He barely avoided a collision, but was late for work and did not stop."

"Okay Marsha. As long as he didn't hit no one. I'll go over and sober 'em up," he let go of the mike and pressed down on the gas, sending the Crown Victoria out of town and towards the cemetary.

Hillgate cemetary was about a mile out of town, perched atop of (what else) a hill, with the only highway in twenty miles curving around the hill's base. He slowly pulled around the hill, and then stopped as his car's headlights picked up two figures at the road's edge.

Dave stopped the car and got out. He habitually checked his Glock as he got out of the vehicle, and withdrew the large Maglite from it's stand in the center console. He slammed the car door, and the two figures slowly walked towards him.

"Late night boys?" he asked, just before flipping on his flashlight. He recieved no response, and then he turned on the light. The two figures were now lit up, and revealed the two missing farmers. But both were differant. Their clothes were ripped in several places, the one named Larry had his arms covered in blood. The thing both had in common was the drunkeness. Or sort of, they weren't wobbling, or swaying, they were just moving, almost mindlessly.

Dave backed up into his patrol car as the two approached him. Pulling his Taser from his holster he addressed them again, "Larry? Carl, what the fuck. Guys?"

They didn't answer but came even closer. Dave shivered as a thought ran through his mind. 'Zombies. No dumbass, no such thing. They're drugged up,' he raised the taser, and still holding the flashlight, fired it into the closest of the two.

The barbs impacted, and as he pulled the trigger, you could hear the slight contact noises as electricity surged into it, but it never stopped the figure. "Larry" simply lurched forward, swinging his arms towards the deputy.

"AW SHIT," Dave backpedaled away from the person and dropped the taser, yanking his Glock from it's holster. By now, he was in the early stages of terror. If a taser wouldn't even phase it, he sure as hell wasn't going to try wrestling it, whatever the hell IT was. The tasered body moved around the front of the car, while tthe second bumped into one side and proceeded around the back.

A quartet of shots rang out as Dave triggered his glock, sending four 9MM hollowpoints into the chest of the nearest one. It jerked as the bullets impacted, but didn't stop and moved towards him again. Switching his aim, he fired into it's skull, sending two slugs into it's brain, and dropping the body onto the asphalt.

Without even thinking, the deputy turned and fired into the second, putting three bullets into it's skull and dropping it as well.

As the deputy stood, there, half shivering and taking in what just happened, the radio attached to his shirt lit up, "DEPUTY KELLER. WHAT'S GOING ON? DAVE? DAVE YOU THERE?" the dispatchers frantic voice came over the radio. Although he hadn't realized it, sometime between the taser and the last round, he'd grabbed his throat radio with his left hand, holding down the transmit button.

"Uh. Uhm. I...What.I," he stuttered a minute, trying to comprehend what happened. It seemed like slow motion, but in reality, it had only taken seconds from stopping, until two bodies were laying on the ground.

"Dave, I'm calling Sheriff Phillips and getting him out there. He should be there soon, just hold on."

He just about replied, when he heard a moan behind him. Whirling, he just avoided the oncoming teeth of a zombie, it missed him just as he swung aside, it's momentum carrying it into the side of his patrol car. Not worrying about damage to the Crown Victoria, Dave emptied the remaining ten rounds into it's upper body and head, dropping it alongside the front tire.

The last zombie's apperance shook him from his trance.

"MARSHA. CALL JEFFERSON COUNTY. Get all the backup you can fuckin' find and have them rolling, call the damned National Guard," he ejected the empty magazine and inserted a new one as he ran around the car. He yanked open the door and literally threw himself inside before continuing, "Call everyone you can think of near The Hillgate Cemetary. Tell them to lock their fucking doors and keep a loaded gun with them."

The dispatcher stammered a minute, "Uh, okay Dave, what the hell's going on out there?"

"I," Dave started and then was interupted as a hand beat on his window. This face was differant than the others however. Whereas they were almost complete, as in just dead, this one was half gone. A skull, with only the area around his eyes and lower jaw showing flesh, the eyes were dully glowing red.

"FUUUUUCCCCCKK," the deputy roared as the side window shattered. One hand slammed down the car's shifter into reverse, while the other worked to unlock the Ruger AC-556 carbine bolted to the car's center console. He slammed the accelerator and was rewarded as the car screamed backwards down the highway.

About thirty yards back, his car ran over something. Dave slammed on the gas again, and backed up another dozen yards before turning the car sideways, and aiming the flashlight into the darkness. There on the road, a figure was starting to stand. He pulled the Ruger out and chambered a round. As the body regained his feet, Dave centered the head in the sights and pulled the trigger, firing twice before the body hit the ground.

He barely recognized it as the missing Goth kid before a new sight drew his attention. It was the half skeleton, half human. It wasn't just stumbling down the road at him. It was RUNNING. The black night had kept it concealed, and Dave didn't notice it until it trotted over top the dead teen's body. He just managed to flip the Ruger's selector switch to full auto as the undead hit his car door.

The carbine emptied the thirty round magazine in a couple of seconds, the bullets ripping into the skeleton, shattering bones and ripping away at the fleshy pieces at point blank range. The wight let out a inhuman howl, yanked away the gun and then continued in the window. Dave ducked, trying to avoid it's flailing arms. Luckily the window was a slightly small hole to crawl through and so far only it's shoulders were inside.

Dave pulled the Glock from it's holster and aimed upwards at the creature. However just as he pulled the trigger, a claw scraped across his right arm. His pistol dropped from his hand as his entire right shoulder went numb. It felt cold as the paralysis forced his arm limp.

"SHIT," Dave thought quickly. He just barely avoided another slash of claws and keeping out of reach also kept him from reaching the Glock laying loose on the floorboards. The undead pulled back for an instant, seemingly analyzing it's difficulty in reaching it's meal, when a idea hit him.

Dave yanked up the door handle, and bracing his shoulders against the console, slammed his feet into the door, catching the wight by surprise and shoving it away. Taking the instance, the deputy groped for the floorboard and grabbed the 9MM. The wight was on him again as he emptied the magazine. A full 19 rounds, rapid fired at point blank range.

And it didn't even phaze the creature, even shaking away the head shots.

'Oh shit. I'm gonna die,' repeated itself in Dave's mind.

The creature grabbed a leg and pulled him from the patrol car, and Dave felt the cold feeling overtake his legs. He reached for his folding knife he kept in his back pocket, but he knew it was too late.

The creature hovered over him and then moved to drop on him. Dave closed his eyes, but immediately opened them as a burst of full automatic fire rang out from the night. He glimpsed the creature as it forgot him and charged it's new target. Another burst of fire, then something exploded, pelting him with little pieces of undead, and a metal fragment dug into his now-feeling left arm.

He struggled to get up, but stopped as a black-clad figure appeared above him, aiming a FN2000 bullpup at him.

"FREEZE," came the barked command. He froze, but looked up as another figure approached. Clad in a suit, he had a professer's air about him, and was followed by another dark armor clad figure, this one sporting sunglasses and a permanently angry scowl on his face.

"Deputy Keller?" the man asked. The deputy nodded somewhat confused.

"We're from the MCB. We just got that rabies test..........."


	3. Danged gubamint

It was chasing me. But this time I didn't care. It was daylight, I was ready, and I was armed freakin awesome. I stopped and turned as a hiss echoed behind me. Looking intently, I just made out the shape of a Chupacabra behind a bush, about thirty yards away.

"Bring it asshole," even as I said it, I knew it was corny, but I didn't care. The AR 180B seemingly raised itself, centering the crosshairs on the monster's chest.

Click.

Oh shit. The creature lept from behind the bush, and bounded towards me. I dropped the rifle and swept my Sig from it's holster. I pointed it towards the creature, now only a step away and pulled the trigger. Click, click, click, I felt the trigger as it went double action three times, not firing.

"OH FUU..." I started as it hit my chest.

I jerked upward in the bed, finishing the sentance, "UUUUUUH!" I stopped, panting heavily as I realized that the doctor and nurse in the room had just drawn handguns on me. Glocks. In my medicated state, I couldn't articulate any actions, or words that fast, but a slew of thoughts ran through my mind.

Oh shit, I'm gonna die. Not only die, but gonna be shot by a Glock, a GLOCK of all fucking things on earth. I'd rather be monster food.

My body dropped off the dream-fueled adrenaline rush and I fell back onto the bed. After a few seconds, with nothing happening, I tried to clear my head. Slowly things pieced themselves together. Okay, I just killed .....Chupacabra? But they're not real? I guess they are, assume they are for now. If they weren't, I wouldn't be bandaged within an inch of a mummy. And now two armed medical personal were in my hospital room.

I worked up the nerve, and glanced at the two glock-lovers, both of whom were now holstering their weapons.

"Jesus," commented the woman, "You about got yourself shot." She looked to be in her early thirties, her red hair held back in a severe ponytail. A scar ran across her jaw and continued down her neck, disappearing under the nurses gown.

Hmm. I wonder if she's the boss? I couldn't tell. She didn't look real old, her companion looked older than her. He was ugly. She's pretty, wait she was gonna shoot me, she's beautiful. DAMNIT I needed off these medications.

"Uhm. tha," my mouth couldn't seem to form words, and felt like it was full of mothballs.

"Agent Dixon. Get him some water," the woman said to her companion.

The man scowled at me from behind sunglasses and grabbed a bottle of water off a stand and with a lightning move threw it at me. It zoomed through the space between us and hit me on my injured left chest. "UNNGGGH", I let out. That hurt, asshole had a good aim, hitting me on my most sore part of my body.

"Dixon calm down," the woman snapped. He scowled and then stood against the wall, crossing his hands. Unlike his boss, he was brutish, over six feet tall, thick shoulders, and the picture of dumb thug.

I reached for the bottle with my right hand and popped up the top on the bottle. Taking several deep swigs, I then set it aside, and cleared my throat. This got her attention.

"I'm Agent Timber, this is agent Dixon," she said, "Are you Mitch Olson?"

Well, so much for introduction, "Uh. Yeah." I replied.

"Do you remember what happened to you?" she asked.

Aw shit. I knew that's why they were here. I had been hoping they weren't. It wasn't like I wanted to say "Hey, I just killed a ghoulish monster. No I'm not crazy. No, I didn't know it was a secret project" and that crap. I'd either get sent to a loony bin, or some holding cell to keep from blabbing.

"Uh... I think I got a bit into it with a badger." I knew it was a lousy attempt at lying, but it was worth a shot.

"Bull," she replied, "You know it and I know it. Now here's what everyone else will know."

She tossed a newspaper at me. The headlines read 'Man knife-attacked by drug-crazy illegal immigrant. Recovering in hospital'.

Hmm. I figured that meant they'd confiscated the chupacabra, took a dead illegal and planted him at the scene with a machete. Good way to do it. No one could look up his background, and no friends or family to dispute it. And once his body was given a once-over by coroners, the rural Sheriff's department would have no reason to look further.

"We talked to your parents," she spoke, interrupting me from my thoughts, "And they're playing ball. Here's the deal," she walked up to my bedside and leaned forward, putting her face inches from mine, "No newspapers, no talking, no chupacabras, and there won't be any problems. Got it?" Boy, was she to the point.

"Bullets. Lead bullets," Agent Dixon murmured in the background. Damnit, he was one-minded. Probably hadn't shot anything for weeks and was getting peeved. Not that I blamed him on that part, I got the same way, but I didn't like the fact that he would use me for said practice.

"Got it," I replied, "So...This thing very common? Creepy critters and all that crap I mean."

"I'd recommend not asking too many questions," she seemed to soften some, "Stuff like that attracts the wrong attention real quick. Let's just say....We work on it."

"We?"

"MCB," came the short reply.

"MCB?"

"Yeah. MCB." Apparently that was all I was getting.

"Okay," I was running out of anything to ask. I wasn't really a conversationalist.

"You're clear on everything?" Timber looked at me and agent Dixon rested his hand on his Glock.

"Yeah, Think so. Monsters're fairy legends, crazy druggies real."

She chuckled at that, "Right. Well, we're good to go. Agent Dixon." She nodded and the man sent a final glower my way and then moved to follow her to the door.

It opened in front of them, and a pair of men stepped through. Almost immediately, the tension inside the room soared again. The two pairs stared at each other for several minutes before Timber turned to me and looked into my eyes, "You'd do well to AVVOOIID," she emphasized the words almost dangerously," these guys." And then brushed past, out of the room. Dixon didn't turn but instead slammed straight between the two newcomers, brushing them aside like a pair of display dummies.

"Lovely man ain't he?" I said to them.

The largest man's mouth twitched and he replied, "Wait 'till you meet his brother."

The two didn't look like reporters. One was somewhat short, and forgettably normal looking except for the clothing. Combat boots and jeans didn't blend well with the loud hawaiian shirt and blaze orange ball cap he was wearing. The second was wearing all "tactical" clothing, styled after military gear, right down to his cap. He was large, and looked vaguely familiar. It took me a few minutes but I snapped my fingers.

"Gunshows. That's how I recognize you." I'd made a habit of attending any and every gunshow in the surrounding 200 miles. Although there were dozens of vendors and hundreds of attendees, after that long you eventually began recognizing "Regulars" that you almost always saw. This guy I'd seen at about every gunshow I'd been too, nothing else really, I didn't even know his name, just the face.

He chuckled, "Jack Andrews. This is Hawaii Joe, also known as Joe Orwell."

"Mitch Olson," I replied, "What do you want?" Medication must be wearing off, I was losing my mellowness and it was getting replaced by irritation. My legs and left side were starting to ache just slightly, and I could feel that it was going to hurt.

"Ah. Feds put you in a good mood eh?"

"If you're reporters I ain't got nothing to say," I replied.

"We're not reporters. And we know what really happened," Jack replied. That got my attention, I tried to maintain a hospitable front, I started to speak but the man held up his hand.

"Two Chupacabras. I know, the feds said to shut up and not say anything. I'll get to the point. We're professionals, we hunt these types of things for a living," I then interupted him.

"Living? How many of these freakin things are there?"

"Which ones exactly?" Joe seemed to get amusement at that, "Vampires, werewolves, zombies, water monsters, giant snakes or what?"

"Joe," Jack glared at the man.

"HE asked," came the reply.

By now I was thoroughly confused, "Okay," interupting the two, "Let me get this straight....All that stuff you mentioned is real? And you get paid to kill them?"

"Yes, quite well actually," Jack held out a business card, "We're part of the Montana team, our boss Stan couldn't make it, so he sent us."

I took the card and read it, then looked up, "So. What is this? A job offer?" I half joked.

"Yes."

That took me by surprise, "So, what exactly. The terms? Dates? wages?"

Dave pointed at the card, "Heal up. When you feel good enough, call that number and we can set something up. Sound good?"

By now my mind was almost running on auto-pilot. Everything I'd scoffed my entire life was actually real, and I was actually getting offered a job to help kill them. Sweet.

"Uh... Sure," I placed the card on the nightstand and held out my hand, "Well. I hate to force you out, but I'm beat."

Jack, then Joe took it, "No problems, we understand. Probably see you around."

They turned to go, but then Jack turned, "Oh, we dropped off your PUFF payment with your parents."

"Puff?" I asked.

"Let's just call it a bounty by the government. For those two chupacabras you nailed."

"Bounty? How much could they bring?"

"Normally around a thousand. But these two got a taste of human blood. Even had a couple of kills under their belt. Got up to $5,500 apiece. I didn't think you'd know about it, and the Feds wouldn't tell ya, so I applied you."

Wow. Eleven thousand dollars. Probably wouldn't pay for my hospital bills, but that was decent money. As long as I managed to not get clawed up.

"Well. Thanks," I was bordering on confusion again, "I guess I'll.... See you."

The two departed and I leaned back in my bad. Damn, now I was gonna have nightmares......


	4. On a full Moon Night

Don Lopez stopped the SUV alongside the ancient gas pumps. As he got out, he wondered if the place was even open this late, being nearly eleven o clock. He decided it was, as the front door was still open and the lights inside on. Grabbing the nozzle, he unscrewed the gas cap.

His two buddies, Mike and Gerald got out of the other side of the outfit and stretched. It had been a long drive from the back hills of New Mexico to here. It'd been a great weekend vacation. An isolated back country cabin, a good fishing lake, and enough guns and ammunition to last 3 days.

Actually it had been a partial work weekend, as the three always went up to the cabin every few months to maintain it, and check the stores around the area. The cabin and land had been a joint purchase by them, all hardcore survivalists. The cabin had been bought, a thousand gallon water cistern installed alongside the spring, along with a underground fuel storage and generator. A woodshed held a years worth of wood, while food stores were held in a stone and log cellar. A perfect retreat if the world ever went to hell.

And the best part was, it required a one day walk just to get there. So far not a single person had stumbled across the cabin, and they intended to keep it that way.

"Hey Gerald, grab anything cold in there for me, I don't care what," Don called as he held down the gas nozzle, it's ancient mechanism literally dribbling fuel into his tank.

"Yeah,yeah," he mumbled, going inside, still half asleep.

Mike came around the front and leaned against the ancient wooden post sunk alongside the pumps.

"Long weekend," he said, "Looking forward to civilization and Jenny again?"

Don nodded and then smiled. As much as he was prepared for a shit hits the fan scenario, he didn't mind the world as it was. Especially his girlfriend. His FIRST girlffriend actually. Or at least the first one he'd ever gotten serious with. Before that all he'd had was one night stands and his guns.

At the last thought his hand strayed down to the handgun in it's thigh holster. A lot of people dismissed and ridiculed the thigh holster as "Uber tactical", but in some instances, it was handy, and kept out of the way. The Springfield .45 was still firmly in it's holster, 8 round magazine and chamber fully stocked with XTP's, while his left leg carried three extra magazines.

His buddies were also armed, all three carrying handguns, Mike and him openly, while Gerald's was concealed.

The gas tank finally filled and Don set the handle back on it's stand. Noting the price on the gauge, he opened the SUV's door to get his wallet.

.BANG. A trio of shots rang out from inside the store.

Don dropped down behind the SUV door and pulled the 1911 from it's holster. He glanced over and saw Mike had already drawn his Smith & Wesson .44 magnum from his shoulder holster, and was aiming into the doorway.

There was silence a moment, and then another flurry of shots, followed by an inhuman howl, a scream and then sounds of a fight.

"DAMNIT," Don lept from behind the car door and towards the building, "MIKE, GRAB YOUR RIFLE." He didn't bother glancing back, knowing that Mike was already uncasing the .308.

Don got to the front steps of the aging store and cautiously stepped onto the first one, .45 pointing ahead of him towards the lit up doorway. The noise inside had died down, and it was quiet. Too quiet. He edged forward and paused outside, moving back and forth to look inside without going in.

As he got to one side, Don felt his stomach go queasy. He saw Gerald stretched out on the wooden floor. He was face down, unmoving in a pool of blood, and he could see the long gash in his back, blood pouring from it. One arm was twisted at an unnatural angle, while the other held his Sig 239, the slide locked back.

"Shit," he muttered. Easing forward, he heard something approach behind him. "Just me," Mike spoke softly, as he came alongside Don and looked inside.

"Damn. Gerald?" Mike leaned towards the doorway, the PTR 91 wavering slightly at the sight of the body.

A squeak was the only warning they had before the doorway was filled with fur. Mike only had time to pull the trigger once, hitting the werewolf in the leg, before he was hit with an arm and thrown from porch. The creature then turned and opening his mouth, charged Don.

Don gaped a split second, before the .45 barked. At contact range, nine 230 grain slugs ripped into the werewolf's upper torso. The creature jerked and slowed as the rounds impacted, then a slight moan came from it's mouth as the wounds quickly slipped together and disappeared.

Empty, Don punched the magazine release, and reached down for another magazine. He just inserted it into the 1911, when the werewolf tore at his gun hand, stripping the pistol from his grip, along with a finger, sliced easily away by the sharp claws.

He barely dodged a massive swipe as the werewolf was on him. Ducking underneath another swing, he reached to his belt with his left arm. Grabbing the Ka-bar knife, Don pulled it from it's sheath and stabbed upward. Although low, the razor sharp blade cut upward from the werewolf's belly, opening a long gash before stopping at the rib cage.

With a howl the creature's clawed hand hit his knife-wielding left arm and pulled it free of the knife, then gripped it, and threw him through the railing.

Don landed hard amidst the wood splinters. He tried to stand, but nearly collapsed as his entire chest turned to fire. It felt the same after his motorcycle crash. Cracked ribs.

Staggering to his feet, he gasped in pain, then tried to fight it out of his mind. He watched as the werewolf grabbed the knife and glanced at it a moment before throwing it viciously. It hit blade first into the supporting beam at the porch's corner, sinking it to it's hilt.

With a howl, the werewolf lept from the porch and trotted towards him. Unarmed, he watched as the creature came, and took an exaggerated fighting stance.

"Come and get me asshole," he growled at the creature. It seemed to smirk at him, then gathered itself for a leap.

In a blur of movement, it bounded beside him and in one swift motion, knocked him away, the claws slashing his chest. Between the pain and the cracked ribs, Don could barely make out the werewolf as it trotted towards him. Just as it was about on him, the creature ducked, as if a sixth sense alerted it. At the same instant, Don could hear the rapid fire of Mike's .308.

Don tried to stand, but only managed to barely get to his knees. Pain, that was all he felt. His chest and ribs hurt from the impact, while he could feel a dizzy sensation from the blood loss. With a final effort, he hauled himself up, swaying drunkenly.

Mike's first round missed, but most of the remaining magazine hit the werewolf squarely in the torso. It didn't kill it, but the impacts staggered it, and it took it valuable seconds for the wounds to flow together. The PTR ran dry and Mike clawed for a spare magazine, hastily stuck in a back pocket. The werewolf dropped to all fours and bounded towards him. Mike got the magazine in, and the bolt slammed ahead, but he only had time to drop the muzzle, and touch the werewolf's chest, before the creature's jaws wrapped around his right arm, crushing the bones and allowing the rifle to fall free.

The werewolf clutched tightly at his prey and shook harshly on the limb. Muscles ripped, and the shoulder joint popped out as Mike was shaken like a rag doll. The monster dropped the arm and stood over the body. It glared at him, and then opened it's mouth, directly over his throat.

"...st," Mike let out a rattling cough, "La...haff, mother fucker."

His left hand touched the S&W .44 mag against the werewolf's belly and rapidly pulled the trigger. The six bullets went straight through the monster's belly, two breaking it's spine and sending it into a thrashing frenzy.

It went still for a few seconds, and Mike tried to reach for his rifle with his good left arm, but the werewolf was solidly on top him. His blood chilled when heard the bones pop and crackle, reforming into their original shape.

The werewolf staggered to it's feet. Somewhat wobbly for a second, it glared at Mike, then slowly and deliberately bit his ankle. The man screamed as the sharp jaws neatly snapped the bone, sending his foot rolling from the body. It then stood over him again, and moved towards his throat.

"RRAAAGGGHH," Don collided with the werewolf, using all of hs strength to knock him off Mike. He wrapped an arm around the creature's neck as they fell, and he hauled back, using his increasingly weak muscles to try and hold it. He raised his right hand, the mutilated limb barely able to hold the recovered 1911 and stuck it an inch from the monster's ear, and pulled the trigger. Four bullets ripped into the creature's skull, sending it into a twitching mass. He emptied the magazine into it's neck, shattering the vertebrae.

This time, it took several seconds for the bones to start reforming. A time advantage Don lept at. He bent over Mike, and clawed at his belt.

"Th...this?" Mike asked weakly, holding up the opened Buck Knife.

Without answering, Don grabbed it and fell on to the werewolf. Literally. Blood loss was taking it's toll on him as he struggled, and then cut the 'creature's throat. It let out a low growl, but was struggling nearly as bad as him. The bloody wounds just inflicted were slow in repairing themselves, barely moving inwards around the slashes.

Don struggled, then with a final lunge, put the last of his strength into a slash, which severed the werewolf's head, ending it for good. He then turned, and before he could even speak to his battered friend, blacked out.

Around an hour after the fight, a small figure trotted down the road. Humming a tune and carrying a small pack, the Ergene carefreely wandered the roads edges, examining bushes as he passed.

Coming upon the gas station and surrounding carnage, it stopped. Seeing no movement, and sensing nothing, it edged closer and surveyed the scene. He finally gathered up the courage and edged towards the bodies.

One moved, and the little creature squeaked and hid underneath of the SUV. One of the two men crawled up from the ground. He looked at his arms and body almost incredelously. After flexing his muscles, the figure stood and looked at the other man's body. The first hesitated, bent down, then without looking back, turned and trotted off into the desert.

After a few more minutes, the small figure crept from underneath the car and walked up to the other body. It was bloody, still bleeding, albeit slowly. Unconcious, but still alive.

For several minutes the creature looked at him somewhat hesitantly, then walked over to the werewolf's body and examined it a moment. Noting the heavy damage that had been inflicted on it, the figure hopped back to the human. He withdrew a jar from his backpack and quickly, but effeciantly covered the slashes and holes in the man's body. The goo covered the wounds and immediately clotted the blood flow. Withdrawing another bottle, the figure pulled apart Don's mouth and squeezed several drops into it, then pushed the mouth shut again.

Satisfied it had done all it could, the creature walked over to the werewolf head. Withdrawing a pair of pliers, he wrenched and pulled, finally stripping all the teeth from the mouth. Taking several seconds for rest, the little creature checked on his "fixed" human. Although he was still unconcious and looked bad, he'd probably make it.

Satisfied the thing went inside the gas station. Scurrying around the store, the Ergene gathered several sacks of chips and bottles of soda from the shelves and put them in his bag. As he was about to exit from the door, he paused and looked at the human body laying inside the store, and then at the pistol still stuck in his hand.

The Ergene shook his head, trying to shake the impulse, as even he shunned at stealing from the dead. _'Then again_,' a little voice inside him said. Overcome by the siren's call, he plucked the little Sig from the man's grip, and searching around his waist, withdrew the two spare magazines for it. It took him a minute to figure out the gun's mechanism, and finally ejected the spent magazine and inserted a new one. It took all his strength to release the slide and chamber a 9mm round. The little guy burrowed a hole in his packs contents and nestled his new acquisition inside.

Upon completing his task, he quickly trotted outside and past the carnage. Stopping just a moment to check on the one human, he then set off down the road.

It had been several hours when he finally awoke. His whole body roared in pain, and he could barely move his limbs. How he didn't bleed to death, he couldn't figure out, all of his wounds had seemingly clotted, although he had lost alot of blood beforehand.

He looked around and didn't see Mike's body, which had been laying alongside him, the werewolf was still there, the head several feet away. He shuddered at the sight. If he hadn't seen the body, and been incredibly chewed up, he would never have believed what had happened.

Had happened. Who'd believe him? Who could he trust? If this was true the government would probably cram him away in some Area 51 or whereever they held people who knew the truth.

However struggling to stand, Don didn't care. He couldn't move. Any, all that responded was his left arm. To top it off, his cellphone was in a right hand pocket. Figured. After a dozen minutes of careful movement, his hand snagged the phone and drug it out.

"Let there be a signal, let there be a signal," he muttered to himself.

He flipped the top open, but in his condition, he couldn't even see the screen. Concentrating a moment, he hit the #1, then send, the speed dial for 911. A moments silence scared him that there wasn't a signal, but then a ringing followed by a "This is dispatch what is your emergancy."

Don only managed to croak several words before again passing out.


	5. We're all in deepdoodoo

Finishing pumping the gas, I set the handle back on the stand. I glanced at the counter and mentally tallied the cost for gas before going inside. Cazador was a sleepy, small town in musty, wet, humid, hot and generally miserable Alabama. Sheesh. And to think I'd work here.

I went inside the store and paid for my gas. Walking in I heard one of the coverall wearing, coffee drinking "Regulars" comment, "Man, there's sure a stream of 'em anymore."

Ignoring them, I paid the gas, picked up my soda and got back into the Dodge pickup to continue down the little road going further and further into the back country.

At times I still wondered if it had been worth coming down here. Considering how worked over I'd gotten by a Chupacabra of all things, the payoffs weren't that good. Then again, maybe I'd have better luck if I'd known what was going on. All in all, in the end I decided it was at least worth a look.

At first the insurance company hadn't wanted to pay for my injuries. Said they weren't "business related" and to kiss their ass, although not in those words. It had taken alot of hassling, and conversations, but eventually they agreed to pay part of it, with the Chupabra bounty covering most of teh rest, although we did end up paying some of it.

All that was left after that was just enough to buy a heavily used Sig 220 before I left for Alabama. The .45 and seven other of my guns had joined me on the trip. I'd hated leaving the rest of them, but figured it'd be too tough to keep track of them all, considering the job. Yeah I know, I had alot of guns. Some would say too many. But who's counting.

Coming around a curve in the road, my destination appeared in front of me. I eased the Dodge to a stop in front of the wire gate and waited as the guard got up from his lawn chair and approached the pickup.

"Howdy," he pushed back his hat brim and looked inside the pickup. Hopefully it was habit, he also shifted his massive Marlin lever action, "How's it going?'

"Good," I replied, "Mitch Olson. Jack Andrews sent me."

"I 'member you. Got chewed up by a itty bitty lizard," the cowboy grinned.

"Wasn't THAT little," I murmered in reply.

He let out a laugh at that, "That's true. Okay, turn in there, park in fronta the main building. Dorcas'll sign ya in."

"Dorcas?" I asked.

"Yeah. Don't laugh," he said it with such a straight face I wasn't sure if he was mocking it, or deathly serious. I figured that it would be best to play it safe.

Cave. Sierra Estrella Mountains Arizona.

"Oh come on Dave. This is the third cave in two weeks. It's a legend. The Sierra Estrella gold isn't real. Besides. How do you even know if this cave is that old?"

"Quit bitching Mike. It's an old cave, the front's collapsed, there's a chance!" Dave levered another small boulder from the pile of rubble at the cave's mouth.

"Your problem is that you're bitten with the treasure bug. All you can think of is treasure. Do you realize that you've spent a total of 55 days out here in the last year looking for this crap?" Mike leaned back and sucked on a bottle of Gatorade, watching his friend sweat and struggle with the rubble.

"Yeah, and someday it'll pay off," the novice treasure hunter tore into the pile again, shoveling free more dirt and rocks. Mike just sighed and looked at him, somewhat disguisted, when all of a sudden the shovel broke through the rubble.

"Ha HA, lookee there," Dave crowed, grabbing his headlamp and shining it inside, "What do you think of that?"

This piqued Mike's curiosity, but he was determined to not show his friend that, "Oh? Big deal. You broke into an ancient cave, Big whoop."

"Party pooper," Dave muttered, looking inside the cave. The inside wasn't really viewable, as the rubble still extended back into the cave. The hole he'd made was a little small, but squirming, he shoved himself in. Once in, he crawled as quickly as he could into the interior

"Hey Dickhead. Get out of there, that ain't safe," Mike bent down, looking at his friend crawling into the cave. Although admittedly he had lost his cynicism, and was in fact bordering on enthusiasm, he still retained his common sense regarding cave-ins and gasses.

"I'll be fine. You stand there in case I need anything," came the muffled reply. Sighing again, he shook his head at his friend, and took another swig from his bottle.

There was no response from the treasure hunter for almost ten minutes, and then a "HOLY CRAP. GET DOWN HERE AND BRING THE TOOLS."

Abandoning his final thoughts of common sense, Mike grabbed the crowbar, shovel and pickaxe and dove into the hole left by his pal. It took a few interesting minutes to traverse the rubble with the tools, but when he did, it was an awe-inspiring sight.

The room was tall, almost ten feet over his head, the walls glistened a dull white against his flashlight's beam, and he could just make out inscriptions on the walls. Dave appeared alongside him.

"Quartze walls, smooth, there's writing on them. I dunno. It isn't the treasure, but it sure as hell's something. Check this out." Dave paused babbling and grabbed Mike's arm and drug him to the rear. There, a flat, massive slab of quartze was stood on the wall.

Prying himself loose, Mike took a moment, finished off his gatorade and examined it.

"What's the writing say?" he asked Dave, "The whole slab's covered with it."

"Nah, I dunno. It's mostly symbols, probably Native American. Not real important. Let's get this puppy moved away."

"MOVED AWAY?" Mike gaped at his buddy, "This thing must weigh a ton."

"Well. Let's TRY to move it away," Dave said, excitement tinging his voice.

Grabbing a crowbar, he began jerking on the rock. Mike joined, wedging the pickaxe in above the crowbar. Although a seemingly futile effort, the rock move slowly. One inch, then another, and a third.

Slowly it opened enough on one side to allow them to slip in. Behind the quartze slab was a relatively small chamber. This one was empty, like the first. Except for a large box laying on the back wall.

They approached it and Mike gasped, "Silver. Look. Damnit, this thing...." he paused, "Does this look like a coffin to you?"

Dave shrugged, "Who cares. let's open it up."

"But it might be something important. We shouldn't go messing with...."

"Look," Dave interupted him, "It don't matter. We're here. Let's at least crack it open before we decide."

And with that the two began to attempting to open the silver coffin. Yes, it was a coffin. And it was unfortunate for these two treasure seekers to stumble on this cave in particular. Likewise had either one looked at the door's symbols any closer, even a novice could have interpreted it's meaning.

Death, destruction, a great battle.

And Legendary Evil.


	6. And so it begins

I pulled the Dodge three quarter ton into an empty space in the parking lot and shut off the ignition. I hadn't seen any signs against it so I left the 220 Sig on my hip in it's IWB holster. I was wearing a T-shirt underneath an untucked and unbuttoned cloth shirt, and it concealed easily enough I wasn't worried about it being seen.

Walking inside the front door I found an older lady behind a desk looking at a computer screen. She heard the door open and looked up, "Howdy. Here for orientation?"

"Yes ma'am," I replied. The cowboy's warning echoed in my head, contradicting the image of the sweet old lady in front of me. My straight face and schoolboy demeanor must have tipped her off.

"Sam warned ya 'bout my name didn't he?" she said.

I thought about lying, but decided against it, "The cowboy at the front gate?" I asked. She nodded, "Yeah he did."

"Well he was right. Remember it sonny," she looked down at my signature, "Orientation's back there, can't miss it. It's already started so you better git." She handed me a small ticket stub

I took it and left. Glancing back, she'd returned to her game of spider solitare on the computer.

Continuing down the hall I passed by a wall full of silver plates, numbering well over a hundred. I just glanced at them momentarily as I heard a voice speaking in a room just ahead of me. I didn't know, but I doubted they would appreciate anyone being late.

I stepped into the room, and dropped into the nearest chair, trying not to make too big of an entrance. The guy seated next to me gave me only a glance, however the man speaking at the front of the room looked towards the door and glanced at me, paused a moment with a slight frown then continued speaking.

'Great first impression dude,' I chided myself, then turned my attention to the man's speech.

"This is gonna be a lon ride. In training, some of you will drop out, some of you will quite, some of you we'll boot out. If you chicken out, it's understandable. This ain't like being a LEO or even military. This stuff would make Bin'Laden shit his pants and the Devil's horns curl," the man paused a moment. He reached into his bomber jacket and withdrew a cigarette, lit it, then continued, "Those of you who join. Someone of the group will die. It happens. Most of you won't. In the end," he shrugged, "It's all up to how far you push yourselves. And how much YOU want to become Monster Hunters."

He looked at his watch, "It's getting late today. I'm sure alot of you have had a long drive. Consider this your last free day of R&R. Find your bunks, get secured. Last meal's served in three hours, so I advise you show up on time."

With that word of advice he stepped off the pedestal and ended the speech.

The class stood from the chairs and began milling around, examining their ticket stubs. I must have missed that part of the seminar.

Looking at mine, I saw I had already been assigned a bunkroom. I stood from the chair and about ran into the man who had been speaking.

"Harbinger," he said, holding out a hand. I looked at it a moment and then stuck mine out, "Mitch Olsuuhun." I wheezed out the last as his hand smashed mine.

"Well good to see you," he said, continuing on as if he didn't notice, "Car troubles?" he asked.

"Uhh," I flexed my hand, working blood back into the muscles, "No. I just. Uh. Didn't know there was a time limit. Stan said on the phone just to show up in the afternoon."

Harbinger snorted, "Well no harm no foul. Just don't let it happen again," he turned and began wandering among the "Newbies" as I heard one of the veterans comment.

I followed the crowd through the door, then stood in the hallway as the thirty or forty recruits went by, waiting for it to thin. Two who appeared to be MHI employees followed behind and I stepped away from the wall.

"Excuse me. I ain't seen a rulebook around here. I was wondering what the policy was with personal weapons?" I asked.

The one paused and looked me up and down. If I hadn't been able to guess I'd have said he was a hippy who had clung to the seventies, a beaded, long red beard, shorts, and some kind of T-shirt with a band logo on it. As I looked, I noticed the 1911 on his hip. That was hopefull.

Weeeyyyhll," he started, "First night keep 'em in your truck. No one will steal them here. Once you pass weapons qualifications you can keep them in your bunkroom. You been around guns before?" I nodded, "Well then your Weapons qualification will be tomorrow, the first day."

"Thanks," I said to him. I extended my hand, "Mitch Olson."

"Milo," he replied, "Welcome to MHI," he said before continuing down the hallway.

* * *

Supper was still a few hours off so I took the time to wander around the MHI compound. Outside of the heavy chain link, concertina-topped wire fence surrounding the camp, only a few areas were inaccesable to us newbies.

Amongst them was a quonset hut with a massive set of locks running from the top of the door, down to the base, and a big sign saying "Warning. Booby traps inside". A few of the buildings also had locks on them, apprently for keeping stuff out AND in. Maybe they doubled as prisoner cells, I didn't know.

As I walked around the outside of the main compound I noticed how heavily fortified it was. The windows had retractable metal shutters, while two small towers portruded from the top, and I couldn't tell what the roof was like. Best guess was the entire compound of personal could go inside. With the self-contained armory, and I know there had to be supply storage, they could hold off a small (Or large for that matter) army of anything.

There were a few shooting ranges, an obsticle course, although that looked like it stretched outside of the main compound as well. A few other recruits were doing the same thing as me, looking over what would hopefully be their new home. Others made trips to their outfits and began settling into their new quarters.

As my watch showed 7P.M. I walked back to the main compound and followed the flow of people to the commisary.

Food wasn't bad, although I did go for a hamburger which was pretty hard for even a half-assed cook like myself to mess up. I noticed that amongst the recruits there wasn't alot of talking, versus the actual MHI employees who were constantly chatting. Probably the unease at the upcoming training and not knowing who all they would be teamed with.

Finishing my burger, I walked out of the building and glanced around. With the sun beginning to set, I walked to my pickup and gathered my stuff (Minus weapons) and made my way to the bunk assigned to me.

Arriving there, I found that the second guy assigned to it was already there. He looked up as I entered the room. He was about my height, just over six feet, but outweighed me by a good forty pounds, a tad darker skin, probably a latin background.

We both sort of stared at each other a few moments. Finally the guy set down the box he had been rummaging through and extended his hand, "Don."

"Mitch," I shook his hand, "What drug you into this?"

He gave a bitter chuckle, "Werewolf. You?"

'This's embarressing,' I thought. Aloud I said "Chupacabra, but that sorta sounds wimpy compared to a werewolf."

"Ah well. We're here," Don flashed a smile and went back to unpacking his stuff. As he did, I noticed the array of holsters, knives and old issues of gun magazones he was stuffing underneath of his bunk.

Damn. Maybe this wasn't gonna be so bad after all.

* * *

Arizona. That night. 1:20 AM.

"Come my servant," a woman's voice commanded in the darkness. The enthralled man followed the voice out of the cave, and alongside her figure. His companion had done much towards regaining her strength, however she still needed an attendant. He would do until she found her new lieutenant.

The woman closed her eyes a moment, then opened them and looked skyward, "So long since I have beheld them," she muttered to herself.

For many decades had she been held captive in a tomb of eternal hatred. Not powerful enough to kill her outright, the silver coffin had merely held captive her powers, the pure metal burning when in contact with her skin, torturing her.

It had been almost too long. The agony and suffering, she had almost forgotten freedom. Forgotten her power. Her senses came alive as they began flexing them, and a nearby rock began wobbling. Moving and morphing into something new.


	7. And raisingheck

*Scene Montages*.

A lecture with Harbinger standing in front of a slideshow.

Outside, Dark, Desert, a man turns face into the camera, a look of terror over his face then a blackout.

A shooting session. Don Lopez burning through a magazine out of a 1911 machine gun style. *Scene flash*, Row of men shooting FN-Fals, M1A's, and PTR-91's.

*Scene flash* Shooting course with Remington 870's.

A man standing outside a semi-truck and trailer as the camera view trots towards him. Flashes to black.

*Scene flash*, the truck is leaving the parking lot.

A line of MHI candidates running an obsticle course.

Two pictures over one another, the semi driving in the middle of the night with a transparent map showing a red line moving northward, crossing the line between Arizona and Colorado.

MHI trainees navigating the gut barrel.

The map with a red line extending through Colorado and just through the Wyoming state line.

*Scene flash* A road sign illuminated by headlights that says "Welcome to the Cowboy State".

Another shooting course, but this involving both rifles or subguns and handguns. There are fewer trainees now, and their moves are more thought out and less haphazard.

A Wyoming Highway Patrol car is parked alongside a highway. The tractor trailer passes by at high speed. The car pulls out behind and turns on the flashers. The truck doesn't respond. As the trooper reaches for his radio, the car jerks from an impact on his roof.

*Scene flash* The tropper sits dazed in his seat, blood dripping from his forehead, but he is gripping his Glock. The camera walks alongside the car and looks inside. The trooper fires point blank into the camera, blacking it out.

The last two weeks of training had been brutal. Well, not exactly brutal. The firearms training was a blast, the full autos especially. The physical stuff hadn't been too bad. Except the running, I could do weight lifting, pushups, whatever, that didn't bother me, but running was a bitch. I'd never ran if I didn't have too. Well now I was.

Today was the first R&R we had got, and from the sounds of it, the last for another week. Actually we were only about a week from graduating. At least my "Team" was. Me and three other guys had been a little better trained with weapons, were a little more in shape, and had in-person run-ins with stuff, and training was going good. Everyone else would be graduating with us of course, but there was a few that would be held back an additional week or two, possibly to flunk, or to graduate in the next group.

I listened to Harbinger run over a quick list of what our R&R would not entitle us to, mainly getting drunk or arrested. Apparently us newbies were on parole for awhile. Well, that didn't bother me, I was all set to fall into a bed and stay there for a 24 hour period.

I was just leaving the door to the mess hall when the team caught me.

"All set for a big Saturday?" Dave asked. He was the most gung-ho, adventurous one of the group. Formerly a cop, used to carrying a badge, good looks and at ease with the opposite sex, he was looking forward to the R&R most.

"No," I answered. I was ready for a Saturday, but not the one he had in mind.

"The whole team's going out," Don Lopez added, "Might as well come." He was the next most adventurous of the group. Tall, tanned, but with a massive amount of scar tissue visible on his arms from his werewolf encounter, he was closer to Dave's enthusiasm than mine, but noticably more reserved.

"What for?" I decided to at least try to resist. I had never been one for social interaction, much less the partying they were referring to, "Besides Silent ain't coming is he?" I nodded to the fourth member of the team.

The man bobbed his head just slightly then stared forward again. He was the oddball of the group. "Silent" was all he was introduced as, and that's all he was called. He was short, barely over five eight, if even that. Somewhat dark complexioned, when asked where he was from he'd grunted "Yur'up" and then lapsed into silence. I could count on one hand the words I'd heard him speak. Not dumb, and he didn't avoid interacting with us, he just never spoke and never attempted to make anything other than a business-type friendship with anyone.

"You see, everyone's coming," Dave spoke up again, " Besides, you can't just stay in the compound except for missions. It'll drive ya nuts."

It took convincing, but I finally relented and the group of us left the compound in Dave's van that afternoon. Being the fact we all appreciated our firearms, we took most of our possessions. Most of the shooting at MHI had been training and used issued weapons. It would be time to finally use our own for awhile.

After an agonizing ride over the rough, rutty dirt road leading out of Cazador, we were all ready for a beer. The first place in sight was a place named "The Hanger", aptly named from the converted hanger it was housed in.

We exited the van and went into the bar. The usual country boys inhabited it, along with the mandatory biker dude, ancient drunk, and overage, over-used and over-priced bar fly. The bar tender glanced at them a few moments then a smile broke out on his face and he waved towards an empty table in the back.

We sat and he came up to the table, "New meat eh?" he asked somewhat jovially.

Knowing the "tell no one" rule, we shrugged and looked at each other. He chuckled and raised up the sleeve on his shirt, revealing a smiley face with devils horns. Harbinger's team logo, "It's okay boys. I retired awhile ago. Too much for me. What're you having?"

We ordered beers and then sat back, enjoying the ice-like air conditioning. Don leaned forward on the table, "Hey Dave. What t'ya think of repainting your van?"

"REPAINTING MY VAN," Dave sputted on his beer, "What for?"

Don raised an eyebrow, "You don't se the connection?"

"Huh?" everyone asked at the same time. Hmm. Even Silent. He's talkative today.

"It's all orange. Either we gotta paint a 01 on the side, or the rest of it brown."

"I'm voting Brown," I spoke up.

Dave looked at us, "What're you talking about?"

"You ever looked in the back of that thing? If all those guns were Mini-14's we'd be the A-team. No we wouldn't...We've got more."

"Oh," Silent said. Damn. Three words already and it wasn't even five o clock yet.

Dave looked at us queerly for a moment, "You're saying you want to repaint my van...because of a TV SHOW? One that had the most accurate hip-shooters in the universe, and was able to machine gun a jet while in full parachute mode?"

"Why nooouhhhuhh," Don trailed off and gaped at the door before jamming his mouth shut and looking away.

At that we all glanced at the door and jaws dropped at the same time. The front door had opened to admit a gorgeous blonde, the type that starred in skin flicks, and was the stereotype southern bimbo in most tv shows, complete with tied off shirt and cut off jeans.

"Hey someone's gotta go talk to her," Don was the first to break the silence. He poked Silent, "You first."

The man gave him a, 'Are you freakin kidding me?' look, then shook his head and nodded towards me.

"Fuck you," I looked back, "I ain't going up to that. Number one, she's too hot for me, Number two she," I was interupted as Dave pushed back his chair and almost stumbled over himself going up to the bar.

"....Probably has a boyfriend." I finished, just as the front door had an eclipse. He coulda been named Bubba. He probably was. Six foot, eight, and more weight than I could guess, with arms as thick as a tree trunk. And he came in just as Dave started making the equivalent a turkey strutting move at his girlfriend.

"Hey, YOU," he bellowed. Dave glanced at him, then got a deer in the headlights look, "Back off pal."

At that point I don't know what Dave was thinking. Maybe he was dumb enough to think we'd back him up on something like this, "Don't see a ring on her finger," he retorted.

At this point Don's cell phone rang, he pulled it from his pocket and glanced at the front screen, "Harbinger," he said before flipping it open.

"Don. What? Okay. Yeah. The Hanger. Yeah I know. Twenty minutes? Got you," he said before snapping the phone shut.

"What's up?" I asked.

"Harbinger says we got a training run for us. They'll meet us at the crossroads in twenty minutes. Now let's get out of here before Dave gets himself killed."

Bubba had just raised a massive fist when Don stepped between them, "Excuse me," he said to the mountain before turning to Dave. Bubba stopped his fist inches from the back of Don's head, the abrupt manner and seeming indifferance to his presence unnerving him.

"Boss called, we're getting out of here," Don grabbed Dave's arm and yanked him away before he had a chance to retort. The mountain stared after us as we exited the bar, while the blonde blew the hair out of her eyes and wandered to the back of the bar to the ongoing pool game.

"He's lucky Harbinger wants us," Dave commented. He paused in the van's doorway to coolly adjust his sunglasses. The rest of us just stared at him until he slammed the door shut, put the van into gear and then pulled back onto the highway.

"Come my servant," the woman commanded. The enthralled man stepped forward. She sighed inwardly. She had put alot of strength into him to keep him both enthralled and coherant enough to do things on his own as her lieutenant. Too bad he would not survive the night.

She closed her eyes a moment and sent a mental command to her entourage. The stolen semi-truck idled up and pulled back on the road, carrying inside it half a dozen of her wights, driven by the enthralled driver. A leather-skinned creature lifted off from the ground and climbed into the sky, obscuring itself in the clouds as it followed the truck. They would continue the path through Montana, and into North Dakota. Drawing the forces of those against her away from her.

The woman turned towards the cave entrance and walked inside. The remaining four leathery skinned creatures perched on the mountain's side and watched the skies with rapt attention.

Her remaining forces followed her inside, a crude assortment of enthralled humans, newly created wights, a pair of vampires she had turned in Colorado, and bringing up the rear, a quartet of massive golems. Twelve feet tall, and made of solid, imposing rock, they stonily followed behind.

The golems halted just inside the entrance, while the remainder went deeper into the mountain. The mysterious woman unhesitantly chose her route amongst the forking and numerous cave openings. Finally stopping ahead of a pile of rubble.

With a thought, her entourage tore into the pile, quickly shifting the rock and debris to the sides of the cave. In a mere half hour, the cave was opened. She stepped past the rubble, and motioned her enthralled lieutenant to follow her, while the remainder stayed in their places.

Deeper they went, until they halted in front of a small chamber. A boulder stood at one edge of the room, it's mass a dozen times that which had kept her enclosed in Arizona. Steeling herself, she went still a moment. The boulder tremored a moment, then slid to the side. The woman exhaled deeply, then walked wearily into the chamber. It had been long ago that rock was placed. When she was more powerful.

"My Shaman," the man kneeled before her. The woman turned, her headdress seemingly glowing in the sunlight, the porcupine hairs glistening golden, while the sapphires glowed a deep blue.

"What is it Crazy Snake?"

"The one column of soldiers has been annihilated. Another routed, and the third is coming under attack."

She nodded, "Very well," she opened her mouth to command an order when her lieutenant jerked forward, a meaty 'thud' echoing. He fell to the ground, an arrow portruding from his back.

The shaman's senses picked up the whispery 'whoosh' of a bowstring releasing and ducked to the side, narrowly avoiding a pair arrows speeding by. However even her senses evaded her as a pain tore into her, a boom sounding a second later as the silver bullet tore into her chest and exited the back.

Her wight bodyguards lept towards the tent the shot came from, but were brought down as two silver axes flashed in the afternoon's sunlight, cutting through their necks.

She raised herself off the ground, using some of her strength to heal the wound, and calling her forces to her. The golems and wights stationed around the village began converging on her, moving to protect their master. Four figures lept from surrounding tents and moved towards the Shaman while another dozen circled the spot, firing on the approaching rock monsters and undead warriors.

A pair of the attacking warriors moved towards her, while the other pair ran to her tent.

"NOOOOO," she roared, her voice echoing across the coullees. She attempted to destroy her two attackers with her powers, however found her attempts useless. Snarling, she withdrew the paired swords and fell upon them. As they closed to mere feet, she could see the amulets hanging from their necks, effectively blocking her power's affect on them. Then by mortal means they would die as well.

One was quickly cut down by her blades, however the other kept to her doggedly, dodging her blows, and launching attacks on her. His hammer struck one of her swords from her, when the last of the other defenders was felled by her golems. The horde rushed forward as the woman let out a laugh, "You will die by my hand."

At that moment, the pair emerged from her tent, carrying a bag between them. She turned and moved towards them, turning her back to her attacker, expecting him to be torn apart by her soldiers. Ignoring his own safety, the warrior instead brought his warhammer down on her back. Letting out a scream of pain she fell to the ground as her lower spine shattered. She faded to unconciousness as the looters mounted a pair of horses and quickly outdistanced her slower forces.

She snapped back into reality. That had been the beginning of her downfall. Crazy Snake laid here. She had healed his wound then. However two weeks later he had died, taking a bullet to the chest as he led the counter-charge that destroyed their ambushers. She had been weakened by then. Having diminished much of her power by heavy use, loss of worshippers, and attrition of her forces. Hunted by two enemies, they had laid Circling Snake to rest in this place, only to come under attack twenty miles away, destroying the last of her forces. She had led the rest on a long chase that had ended in Arizona.

She smiled as her eyes fell on the snake skeleton that lay upon the stone alter. Circling Snake had been left here expressly to be revived at some later time. It had come nearly two centuries later than expected, but the time had come.

She positioned her enthralled servant's feet into depressions in front of the alter. Once there, she began the ceremony. Mumbling words incoherant to most ears, she slowly poured powder over the dead rattlesnake. Made of crushed rattlesnake rattles, it flew like a magnet onto the bones, sending tremors through the skeleton when it first touched, and then into a trashing frenzy at the last. It went into circles a few moments until it recognized her voice. It calmed, then glancing at her, then the servant laid still on the alter.

She continued muttering the phrases, slowly building in speed but remaining in a near whisper. It ended as she slammed her war hammer into back of the man's head. As if guided by a force, the man stiffened and fell face first towards the alter. His neck caught in a designed notch and held his body. The flesh began withering as his flesh, blood, and what some would call soul, poured out of his body and down the stone table towards the awaiting snake skeleton.

It pulsed, grew and changed as more and more energy descended upon it. A black fog formed around it as the last of the life flowed from the man. It encircled the alter for several minutes, and then the man stepped out.

He flexed his muscles, and glanced around the room. Crazy Snake smiled as his eyes lit upon the shaman.

"My Shaman," he acknowladged her.

"Crazy Snake," she replied, "It has been long."

He kneeled before her, "Too long Nahimana Nukpana Makkitotosimew."

NAHIMANA: Sioux name meaning "mystic."

NUKPANA: Hopi name meaning "evil."

MAKKITOTOSIMEW: Algonquin name meaning she has large breasts."

It's a cheesy name...I know....Don't worry. It's gonna be changed eventually.


End file.
